


Wash It Away

by silver9mm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, First Time, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Magic, My First Work in This Fandom, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel doesn’t realise that his touch has caused Dean to stop breathing, that he is tensing like a snake about to strike, that his shoulders are straining to bring his hands to the front to the point of snapping tendons, that he would gladly, in this madness that is partly due to his physical pain and partly due to the magic woven into the bits of grey clay still clinging to his body, wrap his fingers around Castiel’s throat and snap it, that the love and affection Cas feels for him is translating into more pain, into fear and rage, and that Dean will do anything right now to make it stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash It Away

**Author's Note:**

> Cas cut off from his angelic powers, Dean gets nabbed by some hoodoo freaks, Sam and Cas rescue him, but something isn't quite right, until it is.

Castiel staggers when they find Dean. Sam feels him falter and without looking, grabs Cas’ arm and jerks him forward. A tiny movement from Dean’s nearly unconscious body and the intricate system holding him up would collapse, and the rope around his throat would break his neck. They had to help him, and it had to be now. Whoever put him there might still be around, but they had to chance it.

“I’ll hold him, Cas. You knock those fucking poles down and then find a way to cut the rope.”

Cas’ mouth opens but he only nods, drags his eyes away from where Dean is suspended, seemingly impaled, by so many thick bamboo canes jabbing into his body, holding him up as they press on every nerve, organ, and joint. Castiel scouts frantically for something to stand on that will raise him up high enough, ten feet or more, to get to the thick rope that is the real danger to Dean’s life. There is a sketchy looking table to one side of the warehouse and he darts to it, tips it upright and drags it towards the center of the room.

“I’ve got him, get him down,” Sam rasps, and Cas looks over his shoulder to see Dean’s little brother with his arms wrapped around Dean’s legs above the knees, supporting him.

Now that he’s close enough, Cas can see that Dean is indeed conscious, and watching their movements through the one eye that isn’t blood-encrusted shut. His fists are clenched, arms wrenched behind him and pulled tightly down by his wrists, tied to a huge beam on the floor, putting what has to be agonising pressure on the various poles gouging into him. That he hasn’t moved is miraculous, but it won't be much longer before Dean collapses, both will and muscle, allowing the canes to variously deaden or activate the pressure points in his body. He will be spasming in minutes. The poles will be knocked away by this thrashing and Dean will fall, and the drop will snap his neck. Perhaps the sigil that Sam scuffed his boots through will make Dean's corpse reanimate, or will just capture his life's energy like a battery. Cas feels his knees weaken again.

“Cas!” Sam shouts.

Castiel keeps himself from jumping at the sound, but being commanded is what he needs and what he knows. He puts a hand to the pole closest to him, one that is rammed deeply under Dean’s rib cage, one that is probably bruising his lung with even the most shallow breath. It is vibrating, tense enough to snap. Cas tentatively wiggles it, finds it isn’t going to budge easily, and realises he is going to have to carefully kick the bottom of the poles away. He glances up. One pale green eye is gazing down at him, but it is losing focus.

The angel tries to speak, swallows, tries again. “Are you sure you’ve got him?” he manages.

“Do it!”

He turns away from Dean, takes careful aim, kicks the first pole at the base where it is wedged into the dirt floor. The sound Dean makes as the pole clatters against others before it falls inspires Cas to action. There are more than a dozen of the bamboo pieces holding Dean up and though Cas tries to be gentle, there is no way to take them down that doesn’t make Dean groan in agony. He goes for the ones poking into Dean’s torso first, the ones that are carefully stemming his heartbeat, hurting his lungs from the front and back, that are rammed into his kidneys and stomach. The three touching his spine, bending his body back into a horrible arch, are the most nerve wracking. Cas knows he could paralyze his friend, and he is shaking as he uses a kick that knocks all three away at once. That Dean isn’t paralyzed becomes obvious before the canes even hit the ground. He twists in Sam’s grasp, his body reacting to sudden nerve impulses, and he falls backwards. Not with enough force to break his neck, but the rope still tightens and Dean manages a small scream before it is strangled by the noose closing around his throat.

The rest of the canes fall away from his hips and legs of their own accord and Cas dodges their rain as he scrambles to pull the table closer and get on top of it. It wobbles, but he lunges for the rope and slices through it cleanly. He falls with the brothers as they topple over, trying to protect Dean’s head. They land awkwardly amidst the poles, but Cas feels nothing but relief and joy as a gasp explodes from Dean as they hit. He is breathing, he is moving in their arms, he is alive and he is safe.

Castiel works his trembling fingers under the rope around Dean’s neck and pulls the noose off, flinging it away. It is only then, when his hands return to Dean’s body, needing to feel that he is whole, press against his face and neck and shoulders, down to his chest, that he realises Dean is naked. He jerks back, his mind registering somewhere how incredibly fucking soft Dean’s skin is. At the same time, his eyes slide down Dean’s bruised and bloodied body and finds his cock, lying sweat slicked in a trimmed nest of reddish hair, arcing over his ball sac, perfect.

Sam disengages himself from their twisted pile of bodies and bamboo and goes to one knee. He retrieves the knife Cas tossed away and cuts through the ropes at Dean’s wrists. Cas nearly protests as Sam’s strong arms once again lift his brother, taking the weight and heat of his body away from Castiel.

“Come on, Cas,” Sam’s voice is soft now. “You drive.”

The distance back to the motel are minutes Cas spends glancing between the black road in front of him and his own hands on the wheel. He hadn’t wanted to touch anything, hadn’t wanted to sully the memory of Dean’s skin. But he found to his relief it did not fade once it had imprinted upon him, and he languishes in it. It was so different than touching him that first time, when Castiel had been in his angelic form and Dean just his soul, sulphur-tinged. In that moment there had been no separation between them, and the demon and the human in Dean had slid like oil across the holy water that was Cas' Grace, and neither had ever again been able to be exactly what they had been before that moment. But now, his Grace capped, and sinking more and more into the flesh surrounding him, to Cas Dean felt like a stone statue draped in the finest silk. Like perfectly softened butter, or the surface tension of water when Cas had placed his palm over it the first time he’d taken a bath.

Absurdly, he wishes he could touch himself. He feels his cock stiffen against his leg and he wants to take it in the hand that had touched Dean’s chest and see if he can imagine that impossibly soft skin as he strokes himself. He knows he is blushing, he can feel the heat in his cheeks, and is glad for the darkness of the night.

He hurries inside when they arrive at the motel, the cold air and movement shaking off some of his arousal as he retrieves a blanket to wrap Dean in. He follows Sam inside, closing the door behind them and locking it. Sam starts to lay Dean back on the bed but a gurgling cough from Dean’s throat makes lying flat seem like a bad idea, so Sam gets his arms around Dean from behind and pulls him into his lap, letting his brother rest against his chest.

“Get warm, wet towels,” Sam instructs, and as Cas does, Sam keeps talking. “I can’t tell how bad he’s hurt with all of this... What is this?” Sam pushes a fingertip into the greyish clay smeared randomly over his brother’s body. “Here, behind him, keep him upright,” Sam orders, not unkindly, Castiel notes, not like the way Dean often barks at him.

Cas lays the pile of steaming towels in the ice bucket and sets it on the table next to Sam and, shedding his trench coat and shoes, takes Sam’s place behind Dean. His erection comes back instantly, but Dean’s body hides it from Sam. He watches as Sam carefully begins to clean his brother. Dean gasps once and turns his face away, his head falling back, forcing Cas to lift his chin to let Dean’s head rest against his shoulder. Through the blood and fear tinged sweat, he can smell that uniquely Dean scent he hadn’t realised he’d made a memory of. The scent of dry grass in the summer, of crushed thistles, and of whisky. Even if he hadn’t been drinking, Dean’s sweat smelled like whisky, a spicy note that always made Cas’ nostrils tingle.

“Do you think it’s magical?” Sam asks suddenly, and Cas blinks, looks up, away from Dean’s face. Sam stares at him, expressionless. “This mud, or whatever it is?” Sam lifts his palm, and Cas finally notices the muddied rag in his hand. If there were sigils on Dean’s body, they had been smeared too much to make out, and perhaps it was merely dirt from somewhere Dean had been taken before he’d been staked up in the warehouse. Sam rubs the back of his neck absently.

“I... I don’t know. Probably? Something to dull the pain, or make it worse? We should have done research, but it happened too fast. I’m sorry.”

Sam nods and tosses the rag on the floor. As he pulls another from the bucket, Cas speaks again, “Sam... I am sorry. I shouldn’t have left Dean. We should have stayed together. Sometimes... I don’t know how to... Dean can... He...”

“He’s a dick to you, Cas. I know he is. The thing to do is walk away if you don’t want to fight with someone, if you don’t want things to get worse. He won’t shut up, so you just have to walk away. I understand.”

Cas swallows hard. He watches through tear-blurred eyes as Sam methodically wipes at the muck and blood on Dean’s body, his cock aching as much as his chest, and that is terribly confusing to him.

Sam glances up at him after a moment, pausing in his work. He keeps his eyes on Castiel’s, unflinchingly, even as Cas’ finally spill over.

“Thank you,” Cas whispers, knowing Sam would have forgiven him even if they’d not found Dean in time. Of all people, Sam knows Dean, knows how cruel he can be to the ones he loves.

Sam smiles, and Castiel suddenly realises how beautiful Sam is, how boyishly attractive his face is and his mannerisms are and his movements; as tall and gangly as he seems, how graceful and gentle he can be. His clever blue-green-gold eyes always sparkle, his tight lipped mouth is always ready for a smile. Cas remembers how often he’d gotten a friendly pat on the shoulder or an understanding wink from Sam, and the ache in his chest out-pains the one at his groin for a moment. He bows his head, and a few tears splash down onto Dean’s collarbone.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, startling them both. “Cas, stop fucking _crying_! Did you run off to bawl, is that how I ended up alone, got jumped?”

“Dean—” Cas begins, but Sam cuts him off.

“Fuck you, Dean! If you weren’t such a jerk this wouldn’t have happened. You treat Cas like a stray dog. He fucking _found_ you. That’s why you’re even still here to kick him again—because he always comes back to you!”

“Idiot,” Dean moans, his outburst all the strength he has. He glares with his one good eye at his brother and licks his lips, smearing blood from a bitten tongue over them. He slaps at Sam’s hand when it comes near to wipe the red spittle away.

“Goddamn it, Dean!” Sam shouts and throws the cloth on the floor. “What do you want from us?”

Dean laughs, coughs, tries to pull himself up but only manages to press back against Castiel more, and twists his body free of the blanket. His cock is hard, jutting up between his muscled thighs, and he flexes it, making it bounce, pushing pre-cum from the tip when he knows they are both looking at it.

“I want to fuck him. I want to use him, break him, make him beg me to stop and then beg me for more. But I doubt he could take it.” Dean pauses, his breath harsh in his rope burned throat.

Sam slowly drags his gaze up Dean’s body, meets his brother’s eyes.

“ _I can_ , though,” Dean growls. “I like it. I like pain, Sam. I was so fucking glad Cas wasn’t with me when those fucks caught me. He couldn’t have survived what they did, the way he is now. And it probably would have killed him just watching what they did to me.”

He coughs again, a deep rattling hack that pulls him to the side, and Cas instinctively puts his arms around him to hold him up. For a moment Dean hangs limply, his breathing shallow, his body sheened with cold sweat, his cock hard and pulsing.

“All I could think, hanging up there, was how much better you are for Cas than I am, Sam.”

Dean shivers, and Castiel gathers him closer and is rewarded with Dean putting one of his bruised hands over his own. He finally lifts his head, and Cas sees Sam almost flinch away from the look on his brother’s face.

“But you’re like me in so many ways, and not even Cas would be enough for you, not all the time. You need us both. One to care for and one to fight with. Maybe... maybe you can even show me how to be nice. You might have to beat it into me, but you are the only one who can beat me in a fair fight, little brother.”

“Dean, why are you doing this?” Sam whispers.

“Because I almost died. Again. And I want you both, and that’s what’s gotten us nearly killed so many times. It’s why I pushed Cas away today, because what I really wanted was to tell him—I wanted to hold onto him, but I’m afraid I’ll break him somehow. I need help. From you, Sam. I’m going to hurt him and he needs you to make it better.”

“Sam,” Cas’ voice is small, but steady. “He’s right. I don’t understand how...anything. He scares me, but I want him. I need you, too. I _trust_ you.”

Sam looks from one to the other, from his brother to the bewildered angel, and he is visibly shaking. His face shifts expressions as if swift clouds moving across the sun are casting shadows on it. Confusion first, then anger; arousal, sadness. Lust lingers in his eyes as confusion plays across his features again, and his lips tighten, his eyes narrow, flicker as he and Dean stare at each other.

“Castiel,” Dean says, an almost amused lilt to his voice, “take off your clothes.”

Sure that Dean can feel the pounding of his heart, that Sam can possibly even hear it, Cas slides backwards a little, cautiously, making sure Dean can support himself for the moment it will take him to strip. His fingers pop the buttons of his shirt easily, fumble at the fastenings of his pants, and with a deep breath, he stands. Hooks his pants and underwear with his thumbs, pulls them over his cock and slides out of them. He stands, naked, and lets the Winchesters see him, see his compact body and his arousal. He looks at the ceiling until he’s sure he isn’t going to cry again, and when he looks at them, he finds them gazing exactly where he would have guessed they would. Sam is looking at his face, compassion beaming from him, and Dean is looking at his cock, and though Dean is pale and bruised, exhausted and in pain, his possessiveness is obvious, and Cas smiles to himself.

Suddenly Dean takes a loud wheezing breath and starts to fall back and Cas slides behind him again, gathers him against his chest, pulling Dean and scooting back so he can lean against the headboard and Dean can lean against him. The movement leaves Sam alone at the end of the bed, the only one dressed.

Dean catches his breath after a moment and manages, “See how easy that was? We both want this—” Dean gasps suddenly, pain obvious on his face, his lips pulling back from his teeth. When he catches his breath and speaks again, his voice is harsh, almost sinister. “What more proof do you need? I could make him beg—”

When Sam moves, Cas cringes at the speed and aggression that comes with it. He lunges up the bed at them, one large hand wrapping around Dean’s throat, cutting off the gasp his brother makes when his other hand finds Dean’s cock. He slides his thumb and first finger around the base, behind the balls, and pulls. Dean twitches, his face flushed with blood, his bruised lips smiling.

“I hate seeing you hurt,” Sam growls, “but sometimes you deserve it. You hurt everyone around you, Dean, and you’re right, I’m the only one who can make you feel anything. You want to see how much you’ve hurt me?”

Dean arches his body and Sam jerks on his cock and balls, hard. He leans in close and Cas panics when he realises there is nowhere for him to go, trapped as he is between the wall and Sam’s control over Dean’s body.

Slowly, his eyes on Cas’, Sam comes close until his warm, sweet breath is on Cas’ lips. He tilts his head and their mouths brush. Cas feels a sudden surge of pleasure at that tiny touch and he pushes forward, forces Dean’s throat harder into Sam’s hand, ignores for the first time ever Dean’s discomfort as he struggles to kiss Sam. He huffs as Sam keeps a small distance, makes him strain to reach him.

Sam lets go of Dean’s cock and brings the hand to Cas’ face, and Cas nuzzles into it, breathes in the smell of Dean’s body, revels in the warmth. Sam caresses him, his smooth palm scratching along the stubble of Cas’ cheek. Dean struggles, and as Cas finally seems to understand he has made it nearly impossible for Dean to breathe and leans back, Sam kisses him finally, fully.

Cas’ lips open immediately, his tongue flicks inside Sam’s mouth to slide under his upper lip before slipping between his teeth. He turns his head a little and pushes forward, seals his mouth to Sam’s, his need for sensation, for affection, suddenly overwhelming. He feels Sam laugh into his mouth, and then Sam inhales and Cas’ cock surges against Dean’s back at the feel of someone else controlling his breath as it is sucked out of his lungs. He shudders as Sam’s hand works its way into his hair and tightens.

He gasps at the pain, tries to pull away, but he cannot and he hears Dean grunt and begin to pant, then a loud, pained cry comes from Dean, but Sam will not relinquish his hold on Castiel, kisses him, his long tongue dips in and out of his mouth relentlessly. Cas squeezes his eyes shut and tears his head away, leaves a few hairs in Sam’s grasp as he does so. He can see now Sam has changed his grip on Dean, that he has his brother’s face in his hand, his thumb pressed hard under Dean’s jaw and his long fingers digging into the bruised flesh around his eye.

“Dean, you lucky fuck. Cas hurts himself to protect you, when you so don’t deserve it.” Sam brushes his wet lips against Dean’s as he speaks. “Can you taste him? I know you’ve wanted to; I’ve seen the way you look at him. Seen how you want to rip the fucking wings from his back yourself sometimes, drag him down into the dirt with us, how you want to grudge fuck the life out of him for loving you when you fuck up so much, when you get people killed, when he sacrifices himself for you over and over.”

Sam licks his brother’s lips. “He tastes like holy water, fucking clean and pure, and you just want to ruin him so you don’t feel so alone.” Sam shakes Dean’s face and Cas makes a noise of protest at the pain this causes Dean.

“No!” Sam snaps at him as Cas raises his hands to pull Sam away.

“Don’t hurt him, Sam. I know... I mean, I don’t know... I don’t understand this!” Cas blurts. His hands flutter uselessly before they settle on Dean’s body, one over his heart, the other on his hip. Dean writhes and moves his body swiftly so that his hard cock is on the back of Cas’ hand, and he pumps his hips, urges him to take it up. Cas bites his lip and both brothers go stock still and wait to see if Cas will touch Dean. With another small whimper, he does. He grasps Dean in a loose fist, slides his hand up, and Dean groans, fights with Sam now to be able to turn his head and see Castiel. Sam doesn’t give in. He forces Dean’s face further away, and moves his other hand slowly so Cas isn’t distracted by it until it is back at his brother’s throat. He tightens his grip there and Dean’s hands come up to tear weakly at his Sam’s wrist, but he is unable to shake his brother off. Cas is fixated by the sight of his own hand finally touching Dean, but when Dean bucks against him he hesitates and lifts his head.

“Shh, no, just keep doing that, Cas,” Sam encourages, and kisses him again.

There is a long moment of this: kisses, strokes, sighs. Every time Dean struggles for breath or against the pain, Sam distracts Cas from it, keeps him focused on Dean’s flesh and how to pleasure it. That he knows his brother’s limits and desires so well only dawns on Cas slowly. A knot coils tightly in his stomach and he looks up at Sam only to find the brothers are watching each other. Dean’s face is red from lack of air and trapped blood, but his eyes are sharp and angry and glaring at Sam, his hands now sealed over Dean’s mouth and nose, and he smiles an evil little smile, one Cas has never seen before but he is sure somehow that Dean has. His movements falter.

“How long... When did you first..?” Castiel stammers.

“The first time I beat him in a fight. I was bigger than him finally, and I wanted to prove it,” Sam sneers at his brother as he talks to Cas. He jerks his hands away from Dean’s face and the older brother sucks in a breath, but he torques his body, fucks himself into Cas’ lax fist.

“He wants to fuck you so bad, Cas!”

Cas blushes at Sam’s words but his fingers tighten around Dean’s flesh. “I want it, too,” he murmurs.

“Do you want him to hurt you?” Sam asks reasonably.

“No...”

“Sammy, don’t—” Dean growls hoarsely. Sam turns suddenly and slaps Dean, open handed and hard. Cas protests, but his complaint is turned into a noise of lust when he feels Dean’s cock throb in his hand, so very hard.

“Shh, Cas. Listen, do you want to give him what he wants? Yes? Do you remember what he said he wants?”

“To show him how to be nice. Or for you to hurt him, I’m not sure...”

Sam laughs. “I think it was both, actually.”

Sam’s hands are on Cas now, fire on his skin. One hand behind his neck, the other tugs on his left arm, and Sam carefully extracts Castiel from behind Dean. He pulls him to his feet, stands over him, so close Cas’ cock brushes against the stiff material of Sam’s jeans. Inexplicably embarrassed, Cas blinks rapidly and lowers his head, only to watch Sam’s hands come up slowly between them. He doesn’t touch Cas, instead removes his shirt. Then those long, strong fingers dance over the front of his own jeans, opens them, and the tall, muscular body shifts, two quick hip movements, and the jeans slide down. Two things are revealed: that Sam isn’t wearing underwear, and that his cock matches his large, lanky body perfectly. It looks heavy and silky and arches down and Cas swallows as he imagines Sam dropping it into his open mouth and how it seems to be the perfect shape to slide into his throat. The size of it, as it is swelling even now under Cas’ gaze, might make it difficult, however. Cas isn’t sure his throat could open to fit it, but he wants to try.

He goes to his knees, hard, and Sam lets out another little laugh that turns into a long sigh as Cas’ lips press against his cock. Sam spreads his legs and smiles down at the eagerness of his friend. When Cas’ mouth finally opens and his tongue darts out to taste the drop of pre-come, another small tilt of his hips pops the head between Cas’ parted lips. They both gasp, but soon Sam is the only one capable of making any noise at all. Cas has both hands around Sam, trying in vain to control how far the huge cock pushes into him. Sam puts a hand to the back of Cas’ head and holds him still as he tries to work his thickness into Cas’ throat and it is only when tears spring to Cas’ eyes does he withdraw, long strings of thick saliva dripping from his dick and over Cas’ chin.

Dean is all but forgotten until he makes a noise and both men look over at him. Cas, his eyes bright, his lips wet, on his knees almost face to face with Dean who has rolled over nearer to them, suddenly reaches for him. Dean bares his teeth, his eyes wild, and his fingers curl into claws ready to draw blood, and it is only Sam, moving with a startling swiftness for his size, coming between them, catching Dean’s wrists, that saves Cas from being hurt by the man he wants nothing but love from.

Dean thrashes, growling and hissing like an animal now, struggling with Sam, but he is still weak and easily overpowered. Sam flips him onto his stomach, pins his hands beneath him, and gropes for his discarded shirt. He rips it into strips and uses them to bind Dean’s wrists behind his back and to gag him.

“I know where you’re at right now, Dean,” Sam says, moving away from the bound form on the bed, surveying that his knots are secure. “I don’t know why, but I know where. I know why you want Cas to hurt, to let someone else suffer in your place, but it’ll only makes you hate yourself, and then you’ll hurt yourself, but you can only do that for so long before you have to hurt someone else again for relief. Fuck, I wonder what pressure point got jabbed to bring all of this on?”

Dean watches his brother, lying on his side, his chest heaving, his pupils huge, irises showing only the slightest hint of green. Hate and anger blaze from him in a palpable heat. His gaze flicks away from his brother, and Cas, still kneeling, in shock from Dean’s attack, flinches back from the terrible expression on his face. Once again, Sam comes between them. He puts out a large, warm hand and Cas takes it, trembling, and Sam pulls him up off the floor.

“He can’t hurt you,” he says softly when Cas glances at Dean. He strokes Cas’ face briefly then steps away to the corner of the motel where all their bags are piled and begins rummaging through them methodically.

Cas tries for the first minute to ignore the seething man next to him, but he can’t. Dean draws his attention, as always, and Cas’ heart beats painfully hard when he sees there is blood on the white cloth between Dean’s teeth. Where it has come from he can’t tell—a bitten cheek or split lip, his tongue probably, and Cas can see there are bruises forming where the canes were set against his skin, black circles marking pressure points and vital organs, and before he can stop himself he reaches out and lays a hand against Dean’s chest, lightly stroking him, amazed all over again at the soft, supple skin.

Castiel doesn’t realise that his touch has caused Dean to stop breathing, that he is tensing like a snake about to strike, that his shoulders are straining to bring his hands to the front to the point of snapping tendons, that he would gladly, in this madness that is partly due to his physical pain and partly due to the magic woven into the bits of grey clay still clinging to his body, wrap his fingers around Castiel’s throat and snap it, that the love and affection Cas feels for him is translating into more pain, into fear and rage, and that Dean will do anything right now to make it stop.

The scream begins as a deep trembling in Dean’s body that Cas doesn’t notice at first, but the shaking intensifies until the whole bed is moving, and a guttural roar begins to tear its way out of Dean’s chest. He thrashes under Castiel’s gentle touch, his body arching into a back breaking bend. Cas scuttles away, nearly tumbling off the bed.

“Sam!”

And he is there, a small clear bottle in one hand and Cas’ belt in his other. The latter of the two items he raises up and swings down, cracking the leather with all his force across his brother’s chest. Dean’s only response, oddly, is to instantly relax; the terrible arching ceases but the screaming continues until Sam loops the belt around his neck and jerks it tight, cutting off the roar that would undoubtedly get them kicked out of the room if it lasted any longer.

“I think I’m figuring this out,” Sam says, his face inches away from his brother’s, Dean dangling from the belt around his neck. “You’re just going to have to fight it. We’ve got all night.”

He drops him back to the bed, where Dean draws a harsh breath but does not resume screaming. His eyes are spinning and his body sweating, but he lays still. Sam turns to Cas and coaxes him back onto the bed. When he tries to turn to look at Dean, Sam puts a gentle hand to his face.

“No, just focus on me. It’s time for his lesson on how to be nice. To you. I’m going to show him how, and you’re going to show him why he should want to.” As he speaks, he pushes Castiel backwards until he is lying flat. “Cas, this might hurt him, too. I think there is something going on that when he feels good, it hurts him, and he only knows how to deal with pain one way.”

“Turns it around,” Cas whispers, watching Sam’s broad shoulders, his strong arms and large hands, as he manipulates Cas’ body where he wants it. He begins stroking Cas, smoothing away the fear and tension.

“Yeah. But I think the real Dean is in there, behind all that, and he wants out. He wants to be part of this.”

Sam’s voice is so calming to Cas. He shuts his eyes for a moment, experiencing only Sam’s touch on his shoulders, across his chest, down over his belly, around his hips and to his thighs, and he sighs happily as Sam kneads into the tense muscles there. His thumbs swirl over the knots, working from his knees up towards his hips, once, twice, and on the third pass, Sam flattens his hands and presses them against Cas’ groin, his hands covering him from hip to hip, his thumbs slipping under and touching beneath his balls and Cas opens his eyes to see Sam smiling down at him before his shaggy head dips and his wet mouth envelopes Cas’ half hard cock completely.

“Oh, Christ,” Castiel whimpers.

He is hard again in moments, his member not as impressive as Sam’s or as perfect as Dean’s, but it fits him. Very thick, uncircumcised, darkly fleshed, he watches Sam swallow it again and again and groans when Sam’s wide tongue laps at his balls while the tip of his cock slips back into Sam’s throat at the same time. After his first blasphemy, the rest flow without check from Cas.

“Oh god, fuck...yes, so fucking...jesus, Sam...”

Sam finally raises his head and covers Cas’ body with his own, grinds his hips into Cas’, smashes him down as he ruts against him. Castiel grunts at the weight. Grips Sam’s forearms and lets him do what he wants, his eyes closed in concentration, wanting to note every last moment when their cocks touch and roll against each other’s. He doesn’t see that Sam is looking not at him but at Dean, or that Dean has finally relaxed.

Dean lifts his chin and Sam thinks it might even be a little smile tugging at Dean’s mouth, not just the gag. The shared memory of something very like this hangs between them. He turns his face away and whispers into Cas’ ear.

“I know you want Dean, Cas, but will you let me fuck you?”

“Yes!” Cas answers, nearly a shout, flushes, bites his lips hard as Sam laughs again. But it is not a cruel laugh, not a laugh he would expect from Dean. It is gleeful, and as excited sounding as his own voice. He beams up at Sam as he pushes off of him and reaches for the little clear bottle he’d brought from one of Dean’s bags. He smears a large drop of lubrication over his fingers, and raising Cas’ knees, slips his fingers against his perineum, and then lower. Sam plays there for some time, teasing and caressing until he feels Cas relax. The angel’s eyes are closed again, his mouth open, and his head arches back just as Sam finally pushes one long finger inside of him. Finding no resistance, soon a second finger joins the first and Cas’ hands have made fists, clutch at the bed sheets, but he does not pull away even when a third finger is introduced and soon he is panting in time to the motion of Sam’s knuckles banging hard against his cheeks as he is spread open, loosened, albeit inadequately, for what is coming.

“Sam, please...”

“What, Cas? Say it.”

“Please fuck me. I want you to.”

Sam pauses only long enough to thoroughly coat his cock in lube and wipe his hand on the bedspread before he leans over Cas, hooking one of Cas’ knees with his arm and curling him up, raising his ass in the air.

“Help me,” he says, taking Cas’ wrist in his other hand and guiding it between them.

Cas curls his fingers tightly around Sam’s huge, hanging cock and slides it around until he finds the entrance to his own body. Sam goes still above him, letting Cas work himself onto his cock even though he wants to push it in with one hard thrust; he knows he’ll hurt his friend, his lover now, and that is exactly what he is trying to avoid.

There is a tremendous heat building in Castiel's chest and belly that threatens to consume him the more he wiggles his body onto Sam’s. The fleshy head slips inside him easily enough and he almost lets go of Sam’s cock, but as another two inches glide into him, he feels pain finally, harsh and burning, and it makes his vision blurry and he wants to twists away.

It is Dean who gives him pause, who echoes his own small cry of pain, and he turns his head, panting, trying to relax, and finds Dean watching him, jealousy and lust warring on his face. His face. Dean. Castiel gasps at the fresh pain seeing Dean causes him, and it is so much more intense than the twinge of muscles protesting elsewhere in his body. He would give anything to comfort Dean, would do whatever it took to make him whole again. It is as if his heart literally swells looking at Dean’s dear face, contorted by gag and madness, bruised and pale and tired. Cas sobs suddenly and arches under Sam as a rush of love and longing washes over him and Sam is inside him now, and they are both shaking at the sensation. Cas can’t keep his eyes open, the pleasure blinding, and all he can do is wrap his arms around Sam and hang from him as Sam starts to move. Small, gentle thrusts at first, long pauses before he slips more and more into Cas, working himself in circles, stretching Cas’ tight body to fit him, but he can’t ignore Cas’ urging for more.

“Fuck, oh fuck! Sam, please, harder! You’re so good. Christ, fuck me.”

He leans up and crushes his mouth against Sam’s, whining. Sucks on Sam’s tongue when he opens his mouth before collapsing with a cry of ecstasy when Sam buries himself to the hilt inside him.

Sam gathers up Castiel’s limp body in his arms, moves him around like a rag doll as Cas moans, begs Sam to fuck him in broken sentences and ragged breaths.

“Cas, I want to make you come. Can I?” Sam punctuates his words with hard thrusts. Cas can only nod, his hands above his head, pressed to the headboard, keeping Sam from pushing them any further up the bed. Sam shifts up onto his knees and fumbles for the lube again, putting just a little dab in his palm, and then he presses it against the underside of Cas’ cock. He strokes him slowly at first, tightening his fist around the base and then rubbing his hot, wet palm over the thick head and then back again, watching Cas intently, and when Cas suddenly arches, impaling himself, pushing against the headboard to force himself further down onto Sam, Sam lets him find his own rhythm. Soon, Cas is fucking himself, his hips bucking, small wordless noises torn from his throat as he thrusts into Sam’s fist and drops himself hard on Sam’s cock.

“Cas. Castiel, listen to me. I’ll let go if you don’t listen and do what I say,” Sam says after a minute, and Cas’ blue eyes open, though he looks far away. “I want you to tell Dean you love him.”

There is a groan from the man tied on the bed next to them, but Sam ignores him. He grabs Cas’ hips and jerks him towards him, down to where they started, knowing Dean was able to see his cock stretching Cas open for a while now and wanting him to see his face again.

“And I want you to tell him why.”

At Cas’ little nod and swallow, he takes up Cas’ cock again. Cas’ eyes almost flutter closed at the sensation, but he turns his head and even reaches for Dean, but he doesn’t touch him, afraid he’ll be the cause of Dean slipping away, back towards Hell again. Words pour out of his mouth almost seamlessly, without inflection, no fear or embarrassment giving any pause to his confession. To Sam it sounds like a prayer.

“Dean, I love you. Never loved anyone so much as you. I love your strength, that you make your own decisions. I love you for always protecting Sam no matter the cost to you. I’ve loved you since you were a little boy—oh god, I remember!—how brave you were, how hard you fought! I never wanted to look away, but I had to, but I still felt you, like we were connected, and I felt you suffer for so long until I couldn’t take it. I did what I thought you would do; for the first time ever I disobeyed and lied, and it hurt, but you made me feel whole again and when I touched you the first time it burned me, too. It shocked me, it made me feel my heart, and I have lost that feeling sometimes since then, but you always bring it back, and I love you. Please love me. Hurt me if you have to, but love me at the end of all things and I will never leave you, you will never be alone again—”

Castiel arches up onto the crown of his head at that, his words clipped short, and he comes, a little torrent of white cream gushing over Sam’s fingers and onto his belly and Sam nearly orgasms as well at the feeling of Cas’ body pulsing around him. Instead he gathers up as much of Cas’ come as he can and reaches for Dean. He jerks the gag from between Dean’s teeth and with only a brief hope that he is right and Dean won’t take his fingers off, he shoves them into his brother’s mouth, feeding him the angel’s come.

Dean moans and his pale pink bloodstained lips close on Sam’s fingers and his tongue darts around, and Sam knows they have turned a corner, that Dean’s mind is becoming his own again, that as much power as blood can hold, an angel’s come has to be potent as well.

Cas has gone still in Sam’s lap, watching them though his eyes twitch as Sam’s cock surges inside of him as Dean sucks on his fingers, trying to get every last bit of Castiel’s come. When Sam finally pulls his fingers away, Dean’s bright eyes find Cas’, but he says nothing. Cas shivers at the vacant expression. Dean is no longer under a spell, no longer tormented by demons, no longer back in Hell and forced to make choices that ruin parts of his soul, but now he's lost and Cas doesn’t know how to find him. He makes a noise of grief, and again with loss as Sam slowly pulls away from him.

“Cas, thank you,” Sam whispers quietly, lying down next to him, between Castiel and Dean. Says it almost against his lips and Cas thinks he does not want Dean to hear him. “You are perfect. I need you to do one last thing for me. Slip off the bed and kneel there, and don’t say or do anything until I’m done with Dean. We almost have him back. Will you?”

When Cas nods, Sam kisses him reassuringly and then waits until Cas does as Sam has asked, has knelt down on the floor, arms wrapped around himself, silent. Then he turns to Dean.

His brother is breathing steadily, quietly, relaxed, but Sam has seen this energy before and knows it can precede a deep sleep as much as an attack, and thinks even Dean is unsure which way things will go. He decides to leave him tied. Dean flinches when Sam touches him, when his little brother’s hand settles on his stomach, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah,” he says, “you know what’s coming, don’t you?”

He pushes Dean and his brother rolls submissively onto his stomach and closes his eyes. Sam takes a moment to find and use the bottle of lube before knocking his brother’s legs apart with his knees and settling his body over him.

That Sam is taller than Dean is obvious, but Cas has never noticed until now just how much bigger Sam is altogether, how much wider his shoulders are, how his hips are square and flat while Dean’s are narrow, that his bones seem thicker, heavier, and lust stirs in him again, an almost painful stab, but it is because of Dean. Sam has maneuvered them both so easily, so effortlessly, but now Cas wants to know how Dean would manage him, how Dean would command him, fuck him, how it would feel to be held down. He had felt overwhelmed by Sam, he realises now, but with Dean he has always felt equal, and watching the brothers now, watching Sam jerk Dean around to where he wants him, on his knees, hips raised, shoulders pressed down, cheek to the bed, he wonders if Dean would ever want him to, would _let_ him, take control.

Sam’s fingers work their way into Dean’s body as Cas watches, but he doesn’t spend the time there he’d spent with Cas and again Cas is struck by the knowledge this has happened between them before, probably many times. Sam works his hand over his own cock and Cas’ breathing quickens, astounded he’d fit that inside himself. His own cock twitches in his lap at the thought. Sam is over Dean now, leaning over his back, his elbows on either side of Dean’s face and Cas can only see a little of Dean, only one green eye, and it is staring straight at him as Sam whispers to Dean and Cas knows he is not meant to hear what is being said. He doesn’t, but he hears Dean gasp as Sam’s cock splits him and slowly starts to disappear into Dean’s body.

“We both have reasons to hate you,” Sam is saying, breathing the words into his brother's ear, “you know that, and you want us to, it would be easier on you, wouldn’t it? Then you could fail at saving the world and it wouldn’t be your fault and you would think you deserve to be killed and we’re better off, and all of that is stupid and you know it, but you still fight yourself and fight with us, and we still love you and you’re going to have to live with that.”

With that, he puts his forehead down against his brother’s cheek and fucks him, hard, giving into all the anger and lust and everything he held back from doing to Castiel, pounds his hurt into his brother; his fear of losing Dean, his pride at being Dean’s little brother, all of it translates into this pleasure/pain of incest and lovemaking. He tries to break down the last maddening wall separating him from his brother, tries to make Dean sense something of his devotion, of his need for his brother to be strong.

Cas thinks he has never seen anything more erotic or beautiful. Sam’s muscles are taut and straining and he is dripping sweat onto Dean’s back, loosening the last flakes of mud there, and when he lifts himself up, putting his hands to Dean’s hips to hold him in place as he fucks him, Cas can see Dean’s face, and his own cock comes fully hard again at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, his brows drawn together in pain, but he is arching his back, offering himself to Sam, his own perfect cock hanging down between his legs, tapping up against his belly and dripping strings of pre-come and Castiel watches it, fascinated, and suddenly he hears his name, hears Dean speak it, but he knows it did not come from Dean’s lips. Dean and Cas lock eyes, and it is like this that Sam comes, head back and clutching at Dean’s hips as his huge cock pours a river of semen down Dean’s back and ribs. Dean holds his position, back arched, ass up, cock hanging hard and ignored, his eyes on Castiel’s, and it isn’t until Sam finally collapses back on his heels that either of them blink.

“Cas,” Sam asks, his voice rough and shuddering, “do you have any of that grey stuff on you?”

Cas tears his eyes away from Dean to quickly survey his hands and arms and chest and legs. “No. I don’t. Why?”

“Pretty sure that's what’s wrong with him. I could feel it, once I had enough of it on me. Come on, Dean.” He grabs his brother by the arm and lifts him to his knees, then steadies him as he pulls him off the bed and they both disappear into the bathroom.

Cas hears the shower start and some murmured protests from Dean, then the dropping of a bar of soap. He sits there for a moment longer before sense takes over and he stands and strips the bed of the dirty sheets, carefully wadding them up so none of the grey stuff can escape onto the floor, and makes a mental note to check the Impala before they leave in the morning. He tosses the sheets and blankets in the corner and moves to the other queen sized bed, gathering up the weapons and tools he and Sam had ransacked in their haste to go after Dean and he returns them to their cases and bags and is zipping the last of the bags closed when he feels a light touch on his side. The shower is still running and he had expected to hear that stop first, but Sam had apparently felt Dean was in his right mind again after washing him free of the last ensorceled clay, and it is Dean’s hand on his ribs that makes him turn.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly, his low voice calm now, devoid of the anger it held earlier. “I don’t know what else to say. Sam’s right, they put something on me that...made me bad. Again. But it wasn’t just the mud; that only made everything worse, everything I already feel. Amped who I am. Or who I am at the moment. I mean, what I mean is... I don’t want those things anymore. I don’t want to be that way. I want to be... I want to... I _do_ know what to say, actually. I love you, Cas.” He smiles, his lips curling into the sweet bow Cas had memorized long ago. “Castiel. You know that?”

Cas nods, his throat tight.

“I’m not confused about that anymore. I love you."

Cas starts to reply, to say he loves Dean, but Dean cuts him off with a kiss.

“You don’t have to say it now. I know. I’ve always known but I tried to fight it, like Sam said. I don’t get how he pulled me through this, except it felt like that mud-magic made what was inside me stronger, so maybe with him...he is so good, he’s such a good kid...” Dean wipes his hand over his face and looks away for a moment, but when he looks back at Cas, he is smiling again. “I wonder what it would have brought out of you?”

Cas gasps when he feels Dean’s hand suddenly clamp down on his cock, surprised to find it is hard. No, not surprised. Of course it would be; Dean’s always had that effect on him. Not surprised, but rather delighted that he hadn’t noticed, that his cock was only outward evidence of the way his heart felt, and that his heart and the wonderful ache he felt there was what was important, what he concentrated on. But Dean has his attention now.

When Sam finally shuts off the water and nearly staggers out of the tub, exhaustion pulling him towards the floor, he fights the urge to just curl up right there. He uses his brother’s soggy towel dry himself as best he can and pads towards the beds only to find one stripped of sheets— _Clever Castiel,_ he thinks—and the other occupied by two bodies entwined close enough to be one.

Instead of disturbing the undulating pair, he tucks himself into the overstuffed chair at the foot of the bed and watches his brother and his once-angel make love. They are face to face, on their sides, Castiel’s legs around Dean’s hips, his knees pulled up, Sam’s brother buried in Cas’ ass, and they are kissing. Cas is in tears and Dean looks close as he kisses the drops off Cas’ cheeks, nips at his lips, sucks on his tongue, kisses him until they are both breathless. There isn’t one fucking the other, they are moving in unison, writhing and making soft noises against each other’s flesh and when it is over, it is suddenly so quiet in the room they can hear crickets outside and the wind moving the loose pane of glass in its sill.

Wordlessly, Castiel holds his hand out to Sam and he comes to them and slips into the bed behind Dean and wraps his arms around them both. No one knows when the others fall asleep, as it’s almost each at the same moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I just need you to know I wrote this before i'd ever even seen the show, except for gifs on tumblr, and then i stumbled across misha-anon somehow and this http://archiveofourown.org/works/1005332 was the straw so to speak. I wrote this story the next morning before I even got out of bed, and pirated all eight seasons of SPN and the rest is, well you know how it is.


End file.
